


Fragment

by Lazarusgreeneyes



Series: Shards [1]
Category: DCU - Comicverse, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:04:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3070859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazarusgreeneyes/pseuds/Lazarusgreeneyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a fragment. Of his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragment

**Author's Note:**

> Might become part of a collection, might be just the beginning - the end, the conclusion, the start - of a story and it might not.

„ _Mine_.”

 

He’s bloody, he’s broken, he’s beautiful.

Torn skin stretches out over ripped muscles and Tim can’t help but admire the sight. He made it himself after all. 

Jason would approve, Tim knew he would.

 

He was the one who made Tim into this person, after all.

This dark, this twisted person, this cruel being. Just like he’d meant to be, or so Jason tells him. He believes him.

 

He used to be young, tiny, innocent, but that has been beaten out of him at a still young age.

By his parents, who never made it physical.

By Bruce, who trained him but it was never personal. 

By Dick, who’s hugs were sadistic, painful and burned his clean - clean, clean, clean - skin. 

By Conner, who was his best friend and who lost. 

By his friends, who lost and won. Without him.

By the rogues, who never made it personal enough, never to him. 

But there was Jason, he didn’t beat him, not like the rest did. Jason made it personal, personal to Tim. 

 

(„Replacement-”)

 

His cruel smirk, his dark and light so blue - blue, blue, _blue_  - eyes, his tongue so sharp that it cut through Tim’s mind. His callous hands wrapping around his throat, squeezing air out of his lungs and Tim, _Tim_ lets him with a smile plastered on his bloody lips.

Tim liked the pain, Jason’s cruelty, you could go as far as saying that he _loves_  it, the reminder that he was fragile, that he could - would, would, would - break, that _Jason_  could easily break him.

 

He drags the back of his hand, the one with the knife, over his face, smearing blood over his lips, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. 

 

Jason would tell him that he was beautiful, call him beautiful, because he was. Beautiful, like this. Never before he had been beautiful, but he was now.

Tim’s hair is a mess, dried up blood is on his eyelid, on his ear.

His lips are arranged in a twisted smile, he loved smiling like this, just like Jason taught him. Tim loved it, loved him.

 

He’d loved Robin at first, just Robin, the bloody crested bird. 

Jason had been Robin, he just loved Robin, but that turned into love for Jason, not just Robin. 

He became Robin and he didn’t love Robin anymore, Tim didn’t love himself, he couldn’t, someone else had to love him. Jason did.

 

(„Baby Bird,” Jason coos. „Let’s play a game.” Tim screams.)

 

Tim loves moving with him, out of Gotham, out of the States, from the world and back, and — 

he’s out of his mind, but he’s Jason’s so it’s alright. 

 

„ _Yours_.” 


End file.
